


After the Fact

by OwlOfDeath



Series: Beyond Sand and Sea [9]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Mercenaries, Original Character(s), Pining, Pirates, Vulpera/Human Relationship, vulpera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25580254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlOfDeath/pseuds/OwlOfDeath
Summary: Jona has managed to flee the pirates in secrecy, leaving only a letter on his pillow to explain his reasons why.But perhaps him leaving has affected certain people more than he expected.
Series: Beyond Sand and Sea [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1792156
Comments: 5
Kudos: 1





	After the Fact

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place shortly after [Homecoming](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24803899).

"Light damn it, man, _open this door_!" Eugene growled, rapping his knuckles against the worn, untreated wood loudly in quick succession. "Come out of the room right now!" He most definitely sounded angry, bordering on furious, but there was also a hint of desperation hidden deep within it, something not unlike concern. "You've been cooped up in there for two days, at least give me a sign that you're bloody _alive_! Clearwell, are you listening?!"  
  
The door creaked open a sliver, a pair of brown, bloodshot eyes appearing in the crack, and without a word a hand slipped out presenting a letter.  
  
"You look terrible," Eugene started, but then his attention shifted to the piece of paper, cutting him short. He frowned at it for a moment before he snatched it up, the door closing afterwards with a distinct click of the lock. "What's this?"  
  
"A letter," he heard from the other side, voice close enough to carry easily through the rickety door, followed by a soft thump.  
  
"I can see that much," Eugene grumbled with a small frown, but unfolded the paper instead of asking further, holding it at arm's length to read it. His mildly annoyed frown was quickly replaced by a snarl. It twisted his features more for every line he finished until he was practically baring his teeth, staring at the letter with a mixture of rage and disbelief. "That weasel did **_what_**?!"   
  
Captain Eugene Forester paced the corridor, fists clenched and swearing loudly, cursing the treacherous rat, his navigator, his luck and the very Light, until he felt that he had adequately relayed his honest opinions on them all and was finally able to calm down enough to think. He composed himself with a heavy sigh and stopped right outside the navigator's room, pounding the side of his fist against it once, and received a lighter knock back in acknowledgement.  
  
"Will you let me in?"  
  
"What for?" a voice came from the other side, and even muffled by the door between them it sounded shaky.   
  
" _Hashin_..." Eugene said in a cautionary tone, hand reaching for the doorknob just as the lock clicked. He turned it slowly, listening to the receding footsteps before he opened.   
  
The drapes were drawn closed, making the room dark and gloomy, not even a candle lit inside. But the light seeping in from the edges of the window was still enough to give away that it was in the middle of the day, and to reveal the numerous bottles scattered around the bed and on the desk. Stacked against one of the walls were the crates that held the mage’s belongings from his cabin while the ship was being repaired, most of them filled with books.  
  
"What is this?" Eugene asked, frowning as he entered.  
  
"I have a headache."  
  
"You have a _hangover_ ," he stated gruffly, looking around the sorry room with distaste. The cleaners clearly hadn't been allowed inside, and he certainly hadn't made an effort to keep things tidy on his own. The sheets were a mess, half dragged from the bed, and the room stank of smoke and stale air.  
  
"Can't it be both?" he sighed pitifully.  
  
"What happened?" Eugene demanded. Hashin slumped into the chair by the desk, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes against the light spilling in from the open door. He was fully dressed, but judging from his disheveled appearance it was likely that he simply hadn't undressed, sleeping in his clothes.  
  
"I don't know," he answered finally, teeth clenched, "only what's in that letter. He was gone when I woke up." He gave a joyless, flat laugh, but it sounded choked, just like his voice.  
  
"When?" Eugene pressed.  
  
"Two days ago, I think. You said I've been gone two days, so," Hashin mumbled, wetting his lips and giving a minuscule shrug.  
  
"Curses! I knew letting him move around so freely was a bad idea!"  
  
"You're being very loud."  
  
"But I expected you to keep him in check," Eugene went on, accusingly glaring at his navigator. But the man wasn't looking at him anyway, and his answer came as little more than a weak groan.  
  
“Don't you think I know that?"  
  
“Did he take anything?”  
  
“Only his clothes.”   
  
"I haven't seen you this bad for quite some time," Eugene observed after a moment, "bruise your _ego_ , did it?" Hashin gave a faint snort. "Don't tell me you actually have _feelings_ for that thing," he continued, contempt obvious in his tone, but it wasn't necessarily directed at the man in front of him.  
  
"'Feelings' is a very broad and complicated subject," he sighed, all avoidance, "I feel something."  
  
"It’s not _love_ , is it..?" Eugene almost whispered, as if the very idea was too dirty to speak out loud, yet it had to be said to clear the air between them.  
  
"I don't even think I'm capable of love anymore."  
  
"Don't be so bloody _melodramatic_ ," he scoffed, "I've managed to live a good life without getting hung up about such things. Get over yourself."  
  
"You love your _ship_."  
  
"Aye, that's true..."  
  
Hashin brushed the hair from his face before he draped his palm over his eyes and leaned his head back, propping his crossed legs up onto the desk, his bare feet scuffing a wine stained glass aside. The open door sent the air moving through the room, making the drapes sway. In the uneven light from the window his slender hand appeared almost skeletal.   
  
"So we'll go find the runaway mutt," Eugene stated finally, "rent horses, hire a local hunter as a guide. Two days head start isn't much on foot."  
  
"I don't think that we should."  
  
"What are you saying? We can't just let him—"  
  
"And why not?" he shrugged, still not looking over at the captain.  
  
"He _owes_ us; his life belongs to my ship until he's paid the debt back! And besides, do you honestly think he's telling the truth? That he left to _make money_ for _us_?"  
  
"I don't think he's capable of fabricating a lie like that."  
  
"Not that bright, is he?"  
  
"More like too honest."  
  
"Well you know him better than I do," Eugene grunted gruffly, but then added, "or so you thought."   
  
"It's not that he doesn't lie," he elaborated, massaging his temples as he spoke, a hint of frustration in his tone, but mostly it just sounded frayed. "He's just very bad at it. And it adds up, doesn't it?"  
  
"If you mean what the letter says about his family then yes, it's not just him."   
  
"Going after him would only delay things further. You know as well as I do that he's never going to pay back a single copper by working on this ship. What you're suggesting is that he's an _asset_ worth more than what he owes."   
  
"And the alternative?" Eugene scowled, folding his arms, but he was clearly listening.  
  
"If what the letter says is true then he'll come back on his own accord. And if not..."  
  
"He's most likely dead in a ditch somewhere."  
  
"Possibly."   
  
"And you're fine with that, are you?"  
  
"Saving others is outside of my expertise."  
  
"That's rich," Eugene scoffed. "You just don't like the thought of him being dragged back to you kicking and screaming, rather than coming crawling on his hands and knees," he said, a little sharper than necessary, forcing a short, strangled laugh from Hashin's throat.   
  
"Don't be cruel."  
  
"Regardless, have it your way. I'll make arrangements to have 'cabin boy' added to the list of missing crew. We'll have the post replaced."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
"Don't thank me. You made a good point; he's just not worth the coin, or risking more delays over."  
  
"Mmh."  
  
Eugene regarded him with disapproval, as if waiting for the silence to snap him out of it, but when Hashin didn't look his way he unfolded his arms and continued with an air of finality. "I'll give you one more day to pull yourself together, but then I want you back out there helping with the repairs. It pains me to admit it but that weasel made some of the work run considerably smoother."  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
"That'll be your job from now on, some of the more critical stages still rely on it," he went on assertively, not leaving room for discussion. But as he watched Hashin where he was slumped in the chair, half his face covered and his mouth quirked into an unsteady and hard-to-read smile, his voice softened slightly, shoulders lowering. "And _eat something_. I'll send the proprietor up with a late lunch."  
  
"I'm out of cigarettes."  
  
"You'll have that too, then. But no more bloody drinking."  
  
Hashin gave a vaguely assenting grunt, but then he tilted his head in Eugene's direction, lifting his hand slightly to reveal one dark, red-rimmed eye. "The hair of the dog would make me feel better faster," he tried.  
  
"Out of the question," Eugene said firmly with a frown, "barely functional isn't going to cut it this time, we both know where that road leads. Clean your act up, and get over that damned mutt. He _chose_ to leave—" He managed to bite the sentence off just short of snapping out " _you_ ", but even unspoken the word somehow hung heavily in the room between them. Having said his piece Eugene spun around on his heel and strode out, blissfully grabbing the door on the way to shut it behind him.  
  
Hashin removed his hand and sat back up a little, staring into empty space for a moment before he reached for the ashtray, dragging it closer. He picked one of the half smoked butts from it, lighting it with a sigh before he pulled his knees up, letting his head drop forward to bury his face in the crook of his arm.   
  
\- - -  
  
 _Roughly half a year later, somewhere in Dustwallow Marsh..._   
  
It was cold out and the lively wind coming from the nearby sea was biting, but it still felt refreshing somehow, even though it made him shiver. If nothing else it was great for keeping the mosquitoes away. Who could have imagined only a few months ago that he would end up here, living on a mercenary base in the middle of a swamp, of all places? Things had taken a strange turn somewhere, but it was all so jumbled up it was hard to pinpoint exactly where. Maybe it went as far back as the day when Kirin disappeared.  
  
Jona stood slumped over the railing of the balcony, arms crossed on it and his chin resting on them, smoking, his cigarette hanging loosely from his mouth. He couldn't sleep, there was too much on his mind, and when he would finally pass out it was never the oblivion he was hoping for. There were only two kinds of dreams he had recently, and that was either sad dreams, or wet dreams, and he didn't particularly want either. Both only left him feeling empty inside.  
  
He let one arm slide down to dangle over the railing, cigarette between his index- and middle finger as he slowly exhaled a lungful of smoke, but it dissipated on the wind before it had time to form into any kind of shape. He felt wrung out, exhausted, but he didn't want to go back to bed. Moments like these were a stark reminder of how desperately lonely he could feel at night, and it drove him mad. It even made him regret leaving that horrible ship sometimes, if only for an instant, if that meant he could be close to _him_ again.  
  
Jona sniffed as the cold made his nose a little runny, his bushy tail tucked in close to his legs for warmth. He stared into the distance, past the base towards the sea, and the stars, the thin strip of slightly lighter blue that had appeared along the horizon. The same sea and stars as _he_ would see, too, if he had a mind to look. The repairs on the Bloody Queen would have been long since finished by now, so maybe he was looking after all, watching them through that old sextant of his, brass all worn and shiny where he would hold it, fingers splayed just so.   
  
He still hadn't earned enough gold to pay off his debt, but it was getting there. Slowly but surely things were moving forward. As long as he could keep working it was only a matter of time. Part of him couldn't believe what a lucky break he had gotten when he met these people in the middle of the Vol'dun desert, but back then he had thought that being a part of a pirate crew was unscrupulous. He’d had no real concept of what it actually meant to be a mercenary.   
  
Only a few months in and he had so much blood on his hands his conscience was practically soaking in it. He had done more than his share of bloody deeds by now, _plural,_ too many for him to even recall them all clearly anymore. More death than what his sisters and parents lives were worth, probably, if you could count life in such a way. Though you weren’t supposed to, right? That was on him, and to him it was still worth it. His family didn’t need to know what he had done in order to try and save them. That he would probably never be able to live a normal life.  
  
 _That he was so messed up._  
  
No small part of him dreaded the day when he would have to make that journey back to find the Bloody Queen again, to actually make good on his word. He had every intention to, but the thought of what he might be walking into made him nauseous with anxiety. And then the realization that he would likely get to see _Hashin_ again woke a whole other host of very complicated feelings.   
  
"Shit."  
  
Jona bit his tongue. It was useless to think about any of that, he wasn't even _there_ yet. First he had to _survive_ long enough to get to fulfill his promise, first to the pirates, and then the one he had made to himself, to free his father and sister, wherever they may be. Sagging over the railing like a discarded ragdoll he lifted the smoke to his lips for another long, lazy drag, but then he hesitated, stopping mid-motion to look at the cigarette with a small frown. And he hadn't even managed to quit yet, either.


End file.
